Wrecked (Forever 4)
Page 82The doctor gave me some resources for cleaning up my diet and pointed me to some alternative therapies I could try, like yoga and meditation. He also encouraged me to continue my exercise routine. Leading a healthy lifestyle in general was something I could do to manage my condition.
Living a disciplined and healthy lifestyle fit well with my goal of being an Air Force officer, so that’s what I did. Everything I read about dealing with MS said the worst thing you could do was feel sorry for yourself and dwell on it, so I threw myself into training. I felt pretty shitty when I first found out, but I wasn’t big on long pity parties. This thing wasn’t going to stop me from doing what I wanted to do.
After training hard all summer, I was a beast in Physical Training when school started. I finished first in every drill, and the supervisors were noticing. It made me feel good to be recognized for all the work I’d done. I was beating these guys even with my condition. It proved to me that there was still plenty in my life I had control over.
I was still sweaty from another session of dominating PT in the late summer heat when Captain Mitch McHenry called me into his office. It was September of my sophomore year. I was a little worried that he was calling me in. Most of the time, unscheduled visits to McHenry’s office were a bad thing.
“Sit, Jensen,” he said pointing to the chair in front of his desk when I entered. His face looked grim, but I couldn’t think of anything I’d done wrong.
He grimaced before he spoke. “There’s no way to put this lightly. I’ve seen how hard you’ve worked, both last year and the beginning of this year, so I know how much you want this. But the Air Force is going to have to release you from the ROTC program.”
I bolted upright in the chair and caught myself before I stood up. This couldn’t be happening. McHenry could be a hardass, but he was always fair.
“What do you mean?” I asked, racking my brains desperately for where I had f**ked up. “Why? Was it the B+ I got in freshman writing? Look, I’ll take it again!”
“I know, sir, but it’s not that bad. I’ve been managing it with my doctor. He said that we caught it early. I haven’t even had any flare-ups since—”
McHenry looked down and held up his hand.
I studied his face desperately. I could feel it slipping away by the minute. The only thing I ever cared about was slipping through my fingers. I tried again. “I’ll do double Physical Training. I’ll do the night sessions too—”
“Jensen, stop. It’s not about how hard you can work. I know you’ve put in more time than anyone else in the program. This is Air Force policy. The Air Force doesn’t accept candidates with your condition.”
I shook my head slowly in disbelief. “But I’m fine!” I said, as much to myself as to him. “You’ve seen me in PT.”
“Jensen, look. The Air Force can’t risk you having a flare-up while on active duty with lives at stake. The Air Force thinks it’s best to avoid the potential for that situation altogether. I’m very sorry, Jensen, but that decision is final.”
“The Air Force thinks? What about you? What do you think?” I yelled, feeling betrayed by both McHenry and the organization I had worked so hard towards. I knew I was crossing the line but I didn’t care.
A flash of pity flashed across his face and the anger boiling in my chest threatened to spill over. He pitied me. He f**king took away the only thing I ever wanted and he pitied me.
McHenry was talking but I wasn’t listening. “I bust my ass, whip everyone in PT, and this is what I get? Kicked to the curb because of some stupid shit disease I have no control over? This is f**king ridiculous!”
His eyes became hard and commanding. “Watch it Jensen. Just because you can no longer be a part of this program doesn’t mean you can say whatever the hell you want.”
I got up and stared him down. I was shaking with rage and there was a furious pounding in my head. “Fuck you McHenry, and f**k the Air Force.”
I left his office bouncing between helplessness and anger as I entered the locker room. I smashed my fist into a locker, rattling the entire row. Other guys looked at me and backed away as I went to my locker; it took every ounce of control to not punch someone. Why did this have to happen to me? What was I going to do now?
I shoved the contents of my locker into a gym bag and slammed the door shut. All that grueling work was down the drain for nothing.
I punched the locker again, leaving a fist-sized dent. McHenry could have fun getting that thing out. My fist aching, I threw my bag over my shoulder and stormed out of the building. After dropping off my stuff back at my apartment, I went straight to the bar. I woke up hungover the next morning and got my first tattoo.
We were in my apartment having the same argument yet again. Ada and I had been together for around fourteen months; it was now February of my sophomore year. Our relationship wasn’t going to make it to the next month if she wouldn’t shut up about this.
“Hunter, you can’t keep fighting!” she yelled from the couch. “It’s just irresponsible! Every time you have a fight I feel like I’m going to get a call that you’re in the ER.”
I was seated on the floor after another set of pushups, wearing nothing but a pair of mesh gym shorts. “Really? I thought you said it was hot that I was a fighter.” I knew that it would piss her off but I said it anyway.
“That was before I knew you had MS!” Ada threw her hands up in the air in frustration.“I mean, what if you get hit in the head, or even get knocked out? Don’t give me some bullshit about how it won’t make it worse. I’m not stupid.”
I grinned at her, knowing that I was just pissing her off even more. “I just won’t get knocked out. No big deal. Haven’t gotten knocked out yet.”
“Ugh! You’re impossible!”
“I don’t need your pity, Ada. I can take care of myself in the cage. Besides, I’m being as safe as I can.”